First Son

Trevor studied the large red Macintosh apple he'd taken a first bite of, like he was checking for a worm.

"It's okay that you don't want to do the Naval Academy, Chip," said his father, calling Trevor by his nickname, "plenty of Harrisons have gone the Ivy League route, and so can you."

The apple continued to hold Trevor's attention, as if his college choice would reveal itself from the core.

"I'm not sure I'm cut out for that either."

"Cut out for that? You're a Harrison! What the hell else would you be cut out for? Dog Catcher?"

"Dad, I'm just not sure . . ."

"You'd better get your head out of your ass and make a goddam decision before your Senior year, otherwise I'm gonna enroll you into Yale whether you like it or not."

"Dad . . ."

"Mr. President?" Avril Singleton poked his head through the executive kitchen's swinging entrance door.

President Oliver Harrison turned on his heels, still glaring at his son, Trevor, as he left the room to follow Singleton, his Chief of Staff.

The glare of pristine white kitchen tile reflected the early morning sunlight as 'the First Son' let his shoulders slump, looking now at the apple he'd let drop the floor in his disappointment.

"He doesn't really mean all of that stuff you know," echoed the voice of Elizabeth Stanton-Griggs, morning chef to the president's family.

Trevor turned toward her voice.

"I'm sorry you had to hear all that, Mrs. Griggs. I didn't realize you were in here."

"It's part of my job to be invisible," Liz smiled from the sink where she was pealing apples for luncheon pies.

"Well, just the same." Trevor moved across the sprawling kitchen to stand next to her.

"How's Olivia? I don't see her around much."

"Oh she's here. Just studying a lot and tapping away on her phone at all hours."

"I was thinking about — I mean," Trevor stumbled across his words awkwardly. There's this State Dinner planned for the Dubian prince, and there will be dancing and stuff afterwards. I just wondered if . . ."

"Chip," Liz put down the apple peeler, wiped her hands on her apron and turned toward Trevor.

"You need to keep Olivia out of your head. She's not for you. She can't be for you."

Mrs. Griggs, if it's that I'm the President's son, that doesn't matter to me . . ."

"It's not that," Liz shot back. "She's never going to want to be with you." Liz's face had pain written across her forehead as Trevor to a step back.

"Oh," Trevor whispered. "I guess I didn't realize that Olivia wasn't into, um, like, guys."

"Please Chip," Liz turned back toward the sink, "just leave it alone."